


This body is a wonderous thing

by Kare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark fic, M/M, Scars, Tattoos, Trying to remember, a trip down memory lane, bucky trying to heal, kinda happy ending, mention of self harm, mentioning of Zola
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kare/pseuds/Kare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky trying to come to grasp with his body</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is a white scar on his right index finger. Basically it is just a white line. No scar tissue. No hindered mobility. Just something he had had acquired somewhere in his 20s, trying to open a beer bottle for Steve with nothing but an old key, accidentally slipping and cutting his finger on the metal instead.

It is the first memory to return to him. The first one he is really sure about. The first one he can check up on when ever he wants. Because no matter how much of a mess his thoughts are, how scrambled his brain gets after too little sleep or food or how constantly words slip from his mind: the scar is always right there; reminding James of a time long gone and another soldier who stopped fighting him when he realized he knew James’ face.

It still doesn't all fit together and he still does not fully understand, but it helps him getting there.

Naturally it is never quite enough.

And there comes a point when curiosity wins over self loathing and he wishes to know if just maybe there might be more.

It is rather easy to acquire a room and pay with ready money. It is a bit harder to find one with a mirror big and intact enough for his purpose. And when he does and the thing he planned for is finally within easy reach... he chickens out

It is not a conscious decision. Just something that happens. One moment he keeps telling himself he is not in a hurry. And the next moment two hours have passed with nothing but him sitting on the bed and staring of into space.

He already knows some. The scars around his left shoulder are easy enough to feel.

But what else might be there?

Strangely enough his training kicks in. He was taught to be efficient and precise. So when his mind is finally fed up with all the insecurity, his body takes over and he finds his clothes in a neatly folded pile and himself in front of a mirror less then two minutes later.

He recognizes his bodies auto pilot mode and knows it is a problem outside of battle because it might turn out to be a problem _inside_ of battle.

It isn't his first malfunction. He gets better at accepting them, but not at dealing.

Mostly because he is not yet sure how to classify them.

Nor is he exactly sure what to make of this body.

He is muscled, yes. But the lines of starvation are starting to show. He knows that he is not eating anywhere near enough for his metabolism. The strange thing is that those lines are somewhat familiar.

The scar lines around his left shoulder have turned an angry red. He should probably treat them with aloe or something of the like. Then again, he already knows that his body can take this. So the trouble with his shoulder is something to ignore.

The rest is a bit of a disappointment.

There is a dent on the outside of his right tight that only shows when he holds his leg just the right way. He knows it is probably a left over from a vaccine or something similar. But he can't remember the circumstances.

There is another ghost of a scar on the top of his left foot, near his ankle. He remembers the shoes that left them there. No boots but sturdy, stubborn, uncomfortable, normal shoes. They had rubbed his skin raw and then some and so this was a testament to being poor, to not having another pair to switch to. Back then he had known he would have to make do.

There was a small patch at the inside of his right wrist. A really tiny one. And it only stood out because it was a fraction of a shade paler then the rest of his skin. That had been a girls nail during the probably only time James had ever tried to break up a cat fight. It had never quite gotten back the tan of the rest of his skin, even now that he was practically white as a sheet.

What was lacking however, no matter how often he turned and stared and looked himself once over, were the other things.

The asset had memories too.

He was good, possibly the best there was. But the asset was not perfect.

There had been a run in near China. He knew he had taken a bullet to his left leg. But there was no scar. Nor anything else to remember it by.

There had been that incident when the blond stranger - Captain America, as the exhibition had pointed out - had broken his shoulder and part of his right arm. There were no prove of that either. Not even a stiffness of the muscles had remained.

There were other things he remembered from his nightmares, but here, too, there was no evidence to be found.

In a way this was a lot more unsettling then anything else he could have found.

It takes him three long hours to confirm it as a fact: the few things he does remember after his transformation hadn't left a mark on his body, not even one.

It takes him a week to break under the weight of that.

How can he be sure of any of his nightmares if there is not even one mark on him?

When the lines between the nightmares and his waking moments start to blur more and more he needs a physical proof of what is real.

He has his knife and he knows it is stupid. It will cut down on his efficiency and take away much needed energy.

He cuts his side anyway.

It is not deep enough to be fatal, but enough to be felt.

James studies his body as it knits itself back together in less then four days.

Another three days later even the last trace of this experiment is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky knows. Not because he _knows_ but because he screams himself awake one night to the memory of Zolas gloating words.

Bucky came back broken. They would have never needed to fix him with that metal arm if he had made it out of the fall whole.

But no, he came back broken. Not with two arms but one arm and a stump.

And Zola had loved the challenge, just like every other mad scientist would. (Like Tony would in a few months time)

And Bucky knows it's in his file. The bones of his left arm had been broken. But the tissues had not been torn apart. It had been cut. Not with the best of tools either. But it had gotten the work done.

Zola had been no idiot. Full of himself and insane. But not stupid.

And the few times Bucky had come back to himself those first few months, the few times he was able to piece parts of himself together after they had broken him from the ground up… Zola had goaded him about this mercilessly. About this and about Steve's presumed death.

To think that he could still be whole if only he had waited.

To think how much different things could have been if only Bucky had made it back in time.

It was a futile thought.

But he also remembers the man on the bridge of the helicarier. The one who had completed his mission and had looked even more forlorn then Bucky. The other man had been prepared to die that day.

And Bucky was light years away from putting words to his rage. His mind could not string together the sentences needed to explain how much he wanted to boot some sense into the strangers head. How much Bucky wanted to fix that one even though he was not even able to fix himself.

He even acknowledges the irony - though he doesn't see any humor in it.

And the more his inside tries to rearrange itself into a working human being the more his voice clams up.

And still he knows this is one of the truths he can work with. He can take things from there.

If only his mind is willing to hold onto its thoughts for once.

In the end he writes it down. Just two sentences. But it is the hardest struggle yet.

When he finally has them on paper James feels even worse than after the last fight.

He carries the paper with him - addressed to a person he currently flees. Another bit of unfunny irony.

But paper doesn't keep well - all the more if it is fingered almost constantly.

And James knows he is not strong enough to write it down a second time. He just can't.

The solution is as simple as it is unexpected and presents itself in one of the seedier parts of this current town.

He stakes out the premise for four days, trying to decide if it is a trap, if there is danger or a sign of hydra.

There isn't.

There are two gangs around the premise, seemingly at each others throat and James knows he will have to hide his metal arm. But apart from this things seem to be fine.

When he finally makes it inside, with a stack of ready money, the piece of paper and a tap to his side, where just weeks ago there had been a knife wound, he gets irritated.

The guy is willing to do the first sentence but not the second. And he advises cutting the last words of the first sentence as well.

James shakes his head and points at the money.

He is giving out a mission and either the other one will take it as it is or not get it at all.

In another situation James would acknowledge that the other one is just doing his job. He advised to keep the words more general, easier to apply to different things. After all a tattoo is permanent and he might regret the wordings a few years down the line.

But the truth is that James is not sure if he will have years down the line, much less does he think he might make it there all on his own.

The man realizes his mistake when James starts eying the next worker.

The man suddenly becomes animated, _this being your life and all. Just no suing us if it turns out I am right, k?_

It is this precise moment when James realizes that he will be over charged and it will still be worth it.

He keeps his metal arm hidden the entire time and is a little surprised that it doesn't hurt more than it does.

The worker is rattling of health instructions and the like and James already knows he will ignore them all.

All the more since the other man had commented on Bucky's writing, offering to either do the tattoo in cursive or just copy Bucky's scrawl. Needless to say they had gone with the later.

And so it comes that for a total of three months there are two sentences just underneath James right ribs.

_I left one arm in the alps to come back to you._

_Please, don't give me a chance to regret this._

He imagines showing those words to Steve, because James is sure actual words will fail him when the time comes.

He also tries to decide which of the numerous possible reactions are likely in Steve's case.

And when he wakes up after a harsh night, trying to get grounded into whoever he has become, he takes a look at those words and wills himself into someone who is glad to have a second chance, no matter how unlikely or doomed it is.

 

By the time Steve finally catches up with him, Bucky's body had digested most of the color as well. Only traces of it are still visible and even that only with the right combination of dim light and self cast shadows.

Strangely enough Bucky had stopped needing them by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit time today. And those plot bunnies had been nibbling at me for some time now. Two down, more to go... we'll see when I can make some time again.


End file.
